Letters to Sherlock
by lostineternity256
Summary: Post Fall. John is still struggling with the loss of Sherlock, so he writes him letters to help cope. This is my first story, so any feedback would be great.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own Sherlock or any characters**

Dear Sherlock,

My therapist told me that writing down the words that I couldn't say to you would be therapeutic for me. Help me get over…the accident. It's been over a year now. The flat is tidy for once, no strange experiments on the kitchen table, or body parts in the refrigerator. It's quiet. Too quiet. I turn on the telly just so I don't feel so alone all the time. I think I hear you sometimes, playing violin at 3 in the morning, or muttering to yourself as you work on an experiment. I'll turn to look, and you're not there. Some days…. I just can't. This is stupid, writing letters to you. You would think it's dull. I couldn't even to get you to read my reminder notes around the flat, or my blog for that matter. I miss having you around.

John sighed. What was the point in writing a letter that Sherlock would never read? Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were worried about him. He could tell from the looks they would share when they thought he wasn't paying attention. He watched his best friend jump off a building; didn't they realize it was going to take time for him to get over that?

He sighed again. He folded the paper and put it in the envelope. Stood up from the kitchen table and grabbed his coat, headed down the stairs, and hailed a taxi on the street.

This was the worst part. The headstone. The grave. The smell of sadness and loss. A couple were a few rows down dropping flowers off. The woman was crying while the man just held her. John looked back at the dreaded plot. This wasn't the first time he visited the grave, far from it. It just never got better which each time. Even Molly and Mrs. Hudson stopped coming to visit. It was just John, it was always just John. He brushed some fallen leaves off the top and around the base of the stone. Gently, he placed the white envelope on the ground, leaning against the tombstone. Smiling at thinking how melodramatic he was being and what Sherlock would say about such a sentimental gesture.

He patted the top of the grave absentmindedly.

" I'll come by some other time and tidy up a bit. Get rid of these leaves, trim the grass, I don't know. I met this woman at the surgery and well, we're getting dinner tonight. Nothing serious. Lestrade keeps trying to give me cases to work on, trying to make it normal. I don't know if I'm ready yet."

He wipes his hands on his pants and with a nod at the tombstone turns and walks back down the row.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters**

_Sherlock,_

_You are the most obnoxious human being to have ever walked the Earth. All those amazing things you could do, and you couldn't do the one thing that I needed from you! Did you even __**think**__ of anyone else when you jumped? Did you even think of the people you were leaving behind? It's all well and good for you, __**you're**__ dead! What about me Sherlock? What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to move on with my life when you are everywhere in this entire, stupid flat? For someone who was so bloody smart, you really are a stupid git. My life would be so much easier if I had never met you. STUPID STUPID STUPID! And the worst part is that I miss that stupid, clever, unbelievably clever head of yours. You were so clever, why couldn't you have found another way._

" Damn it!" John stood up and kicked the chair. " Stupid bloody detective!" John's voice goes quiet towards the end. He rakes his nails through his hair, sighs, and rights the chair. Anger, this was normal, this is what normal people did when people died, they got angry. John, disgusted with himself, threw on his coat and headed towards the street, but not before grabbing the letter on the table.

John sort of stumbled across the cemetery. Maybe stopping at the pub before coming here was a bad idea. Having all those pints was **definitely** a not good idea. John arrived (more or less) at Sherlock's grave. He glared down at the headstone.

" You son of a bitch!" He pointed and slurred. " You get it easy, being in that grave, all dead. Living is hard! You took the easy way out, you COWARD!" John lurched forward toward the headstone as if to hit it. He over swung and stumbled into the marker, wacking his knee on the edge of it.

"Damn" John pushed himself upright and adjusted his jacket. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, but nobody was hanging around a graveyard at that God-forsaken time of night. John grumbled to himself and started the long way back to civilization without looking back. The forgotten letter had fallen out of his pocket and was leaning against the tombstone, slightly crumpled.

**A/N: Thanks to the people who reviewed! A little encouragement is all I need! I decided this was going to be mutli-chaptered. Let me know what you think!**


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